


War Bonds

by piperholmes



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, Captain Sidney Parker, F/M, Nurse Charlotte Heywood, Sanditon Reimagined, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piperholmes/pseuds/piperholmes
Summary: It’s September 1944 and Captain Sidney Parker is headed into one of the deadliest offensives against the German’s West Wall, also known as the Siegfried Line campaign. An unexpected encounter with a British nurse challenges a war-weary Sidney’s belief that he’s destined to remain alone.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood & Sidney Parker, Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 243
Kudos: 300





	1. On the Offensive

**Author's Note:**

> Few things:
> 
> 1) I have not abandoned the Book of You and I. Just needed a slight detour to get this idea out of my head
> 
> 2) Sidney is part of the American army, but he is British. Which will be explained. I just know more about the USA’s military and let myself be a little lazy.
> 
> 3) This was meant to be a short one-shot, but I apparently lack any semblance of pith (as this author’s note exemplifies). I went back and forth about whether to post as one massive chapter or break it up. I was swayed by some comments on Twitter, so I will post this in three parts over the next few days.
> 
> 4) I use real events in the story, but in no way is this meant to be a historical document. Sidney‘s unit is real, but I have no idea what it did during the Siegfried Line campaign. I just stuck them where I needed them. Artistic license and all that.
> 
> 5) THE SIEGFRIED LINE  
> CAMPAIGN by Charles B. MacDonald is an incredibly well researched and well documented book that helped guide this story.
> 
> 6) Finally, I typed this on my phone so I’m sorry for any mistakes. I tried to catch them all but...

When he’d first met her, he’d been rather distracted, rallying his men in preparation for an assault on the West Wall. An intensive push into the very heart of Germany was beginning with the west bank of the Roer River. Much of the 3rd Armored Division’s troops, equipment, and vehicles had been severely taxed by the long drive across France and Belgium. Shortages in ammunition meant rationing, and no one felt particularly comfortable going into a major offense with rationed ammunition. The activity seemed a barely contained kind of chaos, but Sidney Parker had his orders and was intent on ensuring they were carried out. He’d not heard her soft inquiries, not heard her accented, feminine voice asking for him.

He’d not heard, but his men had.

“Captain Parker?” She asked, the small wrinkle in her brow the only indication of her uncertainty of finding herself in a camp off Yankee soldiers.

“You lookin’ for the Duke, ma’am?” A young American asked, intercepting her.

She frowned, “I’m looking for Captain Sidney Parker?”

Another soldier stood, whistling as he took in the lovely, young woman before him. “The Duke’s done found a duchess among this great mess?”

The other soldier laughed. “‘Bout right, I’d expect.”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t—”

“Beaufort, Hankins, quit your gabbing and let the lady be,” a voice snapped, sending both men scurrying away.

“Sergeant James Stringer, ma’am,” the handsome young man said, offering her a wide smile and an easy handshake. “Heard you were looking for the Duke.”

She shook her head. “The Duke?”

He chuckled. “Sorry, Captain Parker. The men all call him the Duke on account of his fancy ass...uh...fancy sounding accent. Same as yours actually.”

She nodded, comforted some by the young man’s kindness and easy nature. “I see. Well, I need to speak with him. It’s rather a delicate matter.”

Stringer’s smile grew a little brittle. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the Captain ma’am, but he’s got a rather loud bark when he’s worked up and right now he’s quite busy. I could take him a message for you.”

“Thank you Sergeant, but I made a promise that I would deliver this message myself. I assure you, if it weren’t so important, I wouldn’t dream of bothering the Captain,” she said. “I have to get back to the hospital and don’t have much time. I promise I won’t bother him overly long.”

Stringer seemed to think a moment before nodding. “Alright, come with me.”

He pushed his way through a circle of men, leaving her to follow suit. She tried not to be nervous. She’d been around plenty of soldiers the last two years. She’d held their hands, or wiped their brows, or pressed their bleeding wounds, the last remnants of their life dried beneath her fingernails. 

But this was different. This was more personal, and she felt more alone in this moment than she had the whole war. 

“Duke, sir?” Stringer spoke to a man who had his back to them. He was firing off instructions to a harried looking Lieutenant before whipping around to his Sergeant, his dark eyes moving quickly to the woman beside him, assessing her. 

“Stringer? New V-girl?” He quipped. “I thought I made it clear these women were not allowed in camp.”

“Sir!” Stringer cried, his blue eyes looking to the woman in embarrassed horror. She knew the same look was mirrored on her own face, and she felt her nervousness transform into dislike, her irritation relieving her of her insecurities. 

“Sir, this is Miss…” he trailed off, realizing he’d never bothered to ask.

“Nurse Heywood,” she interjected, her voice hard.

“She says she needs to speak with you about an important, personal matter, sir.”

At this announcement the rest of the men turned to look at her, and Captain Parker’s jaw tightened. She felt Stringer stiffen beside her as if he’d realized he’d said something horribly gauche. It took only a moment for her to realize the implications of a woman walking into a military camp and demanding to speak with an officer on an important, personal matter typically meant only one thing.

Her cheeks went hot and she scrambled to clarify. “I have a message from your brother.”

At her words, Parkers’ somewhat sardonic gaze went still, his men immediately sensing the change, discreetly dismissed themselves, and even Sergeant Stringer moved away, allowing them as much privacy as possible. 

“My brother?” Capt. Parker bit out. “What do you know of my brother?’

She swallowed. This was not going how she’d hoped. “I’m sorry...that was badly done. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”

She could see his growing frustration as his hand moved to his hips, his gaze more guarded. “Damn it. If this is about my brother Tom trying to get me to leave the army to come back home—are you even a nurse or was that a lie to get into the camp?”

“What? No,” she cried, her earlier dislike hardening into something stronger. She forced neutrality into her voice. “No, not Tom.”

Parker frowned. “Arthur?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I...please, I’m sorry, let me start again.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sealed letter. The name _Sidney_ _Parker_ clearly written across the envelope. The edges were worn and frayed a bit from being on her person or in her bag for the last four months, and she felt oddly saddened to hand the letter to him. 

“I met your brother, Mr. Arthur Parker, about 8 months ago. He’d been left stranded in France thanks to the occupation. I was sent to the border of Spain with a few other nurses to retrieve several children that were being smuggled out of France. Your brother was the contact.”

“My brother? Arthur?” He did nothing to hide the incredulity in his voice.

She bristled some. “Yes.”

The slight raise of his eyebrow indicated his tentative acceptance of her declaration. “Very well, Miss…” he hesitated, looking at her vaguely.

“Heywood,” she supplied. 

“Right. Look, it may have slipped your notice, but we’re about to commence a major offensive and I have a lot to get done before the day ends. Please just give me the message so we can both be on our way.”

Despite her irritation with the disagreeable fellow and his incredibly disrespectful tone, she felt her natural tendency towards sympathy and understanding take hold. She pressed her lips together, her brown eyes growing soft as she met his pointed gaze. It was a face she knew Capt. Parker had seen many times because she saw the moment it registered. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, only his eyes widened a fraction and his breathing went still. She saw the denial flash before being snuffed out by the reality of their situation.

“He’s dead.” He said suddenly, simply, painfully.

She winced. 

“Tell me,” he commanded quietly.

“I wish I could answer,” she hesitated. “I met with your brother three times. At the third meeting I could tell something was wrong. He was keeping up a jovial demeanor for the children, but I could see it in his face, behind his eyes. He was worried, scared...I tried to speak with him about it but he only gave me this letter and asked that I see it delivered to his brother, Sidney Parker of Company D of 32nd Armor Regiment assigned to the 3rd Armored Division. He...he didn’t make the scheduled fourth rendezvous, nor did the children. We attempted to make contact, but we were stonewalled. I was reassigned to a hospital in the Liri Valley in Italy, and I’ve heard nothing since.”

She pressed the letter towards him now, ready to be free of this particular task. She had very much liked the kind, warm Arthur Parker, but found herself unsettled and discomforted by his older brother. She had seen plenty of death in the war, but nothing made delivery of this kind of news easier.

Grabbing the letter, his eyes bore into her. “You come here, on the eve of an offensive against one of Germany's largest strongholds, with news like this?”

She blinked, her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought…

“I beg your pardon,” she began, but he huffed angrily.

“I have men depending on me to lead them. These men are preparing to go into battle, to try and make a difference at the expense of a great deal of effort and anxiety, and most likely their lives, in a good cause for which I do my best to help and support them. And you see fit to-to march in here, to-to so casually drop this on me?”

Embarrassment and shame ripped through her, and she struggled for words. “I beg your pardon,” she tried again. “I’ve upset you. Please forgive me.”

“No, you haven’t upset me,” he said coldly. “How could I expect any different from a girl with so little experience and understanding?”

He shoved the letter into his pocket and walked away without another word.

****

The fighting had been going on for days. The push to get through the Westwall was met with fierce resistance from several Panzer Divisions fighting tooth and nail to prevent Allied forces from getting through the Siegfried Line. Even with the German defenses divided, thanks to the surrounding and near constant shelling of Aachen, there was heavy fighting from Gressenich to the Weissenbert. The 3rd Armored Division’s only real advancement of the day came when General Rose scraped together a small force to close a four-mile gap between his two combat commands. 

“Captain Parker!” Rose had called. “You get your men and tanks and get up near Buesbach. Join up with the 26th and by God hold that line.”

There was no hesitation. “D Company!” had been his call, and his men had jumped. They would close the gap and defend the line with their lives. It was a hard fight, costly in both men and tanks, but they held the objective as night came.

Sydney Parker, focused on keeping as many of his men alive as possible, never heard the whistle of the mortar shell. 

****

When he first awoke, the pressure in his chest made breathing a challenge. He fought to sit up but the men above him shoved him down. The ringing in his ears muffled what they were saying. He wanted to speak, to get back to the fight, to stop the feeling of pain in his body, but he could do nothing except let them lift his body before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The second time he awoke it was dark and silent. He struggled to focus, his mind feeling foggy and befuddled. His throat was dry and his tongue felt too large for his mouth. He was desperate for some water, but the need to know where he was and what was happening took priority. His head pounded and his entire body ached, but he attempted to force himself upright. He made it up onto his elbows before a gentle pressure pushed against his shoulder. He wanted to resist, but his body betrayed him and he slipped back down. 

He looked up to find a pair of large, brown eyes looking down at him. 

He’d seen those eyes before. He’d been struck by them.

They were beautiful.

“Careful, Captain Parker,” she chided.

“Where?” He managed to ground out.

Instead of answering, she disappeared and he felt a ridiculous moment of panic. She soon returned, however, a glass of water in her hands. She held his head up, bringing it to rest against her chest, as a mother would her ill child, holding the cup as he tried to drink down the water. 

“Slowly,” she urged when he choked. “You're in a field hospital near Bree.”

The water cleaned away the grimmy feeling and he felt better able to speak. “What happened?”

“A mortar round exploded near you, but your men got you to an ambulance. You had a collapsed lung and you’ve broken several ribs. You’ve several scratches and bruises from being thrown, but miraculously that’s all.”

“That’s all,” he grumbled, but immediately regretted it. He knew what she meant. He didn’t have to look around to the other men lying in cots, to see their missing body parts and disfigured faces, to know how lucky he’d been. “Sorry.”

“Hush,” She soothed. “You’re going to be in quite a bit of pain, we’ve very limited supplies right now and, as awful as I know you have to be feeling, there are those—”

He waved her off, or at least tried to. He understood. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t. 

She still held him and, despite the pain radiating from all corners of his body, there was something comforting in the warmth he felt from her. He moved his hand until his fingers met the dirty, stained cotton of her dress. He didn't know why he did it, but he pressed his palm against her knee before he bunched the cloth in his palm.

She didn’t scold him.

“Sleep,” she whispered. He thought it would be impossible to obey, but his body simply gave out, and he fell back into the relief of oblivion in her arms. 

****

On his second day he’d awoken to the next wave of wounded. They’d heard the shelling begin around dawn, and he’d expected the influx to begin soon. He’d had a rough night of pain and discomfort, but when the soldier next to him had cried out for his momma and died, he could only be grateful. He’d watched Nurse Heywood hold the soldier’s hand, the youthful boy whimpering in pain. She’d smiled at him and hushed him and when he’d died she’d smoothed back his hair before calling to have the body removed. As sad as it was, they needed the bed. 

He’d managed to doze off, but the buzz of activity as men were triaged and treated soon woke him.

“Captain Parker?” a weak voice called, and he turned to see his Sergeant a few beds down.

“Stringer?” he answered, trying to pull himself up. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it. That’s what a soldier learned to do.

He hobbled over to the bed. Unable to stand, he had to lower himself to his knees but not before taking in Stringer’s mangled, bloody leg. 

“Happy to see you alive, sir,” he managed through clenched teeth. 

“And I you, Stringer.”

“Well, what’s left of me anyway,” the younger man joked ruefully before hissing with pain. 

Sidney knew distraction was all he could offer Stringer right now. “How’s D company?”

“Hanging tight, sir,” Stringer grounded out. “Major Lambe sent over Lt. Robinson to fill in until you’re back on your feet.”

Sidney nodded. He knew Fred Robinson was a good man and a smart soldier. 

“We’ve lost Howard and Beecroft,” Stringer continued. Sidney wished he could say he was surprised, but neither men had proven to be strong soldiers. Still, didn’t mean they deserved to die in a forest of trees so far from home. 

“The advance?”

“We’ve all but taken Aachen. The Germans are trying to evacuate, but it seems like we aren’t going to move forward, just keeping the city isolated,” he said. “We were moving northeast when we damn near wandered into a panzer division. They were surprised as we were. It worked to our advantage, and we were able to take the group without much fighting, but not before I got my leg busted up.”

“Captain Parker! Get back in bed,” a voice snapped, and both men looked to see an irritated Nurse Heywood. “We’ve enough to deal with without you falling down and exacerbating that wound.”

He made to argue but the wet blood covering her hands and the flush of her cheeks shut him up. Instead, he nodded to Stringer and moved back to his own cot.

He watched the nurse begin to assess Stringer.

“Good to see you again, ma’am,” he said as if they were meeting at a garden party or strolling along the road, despite the way his body shook with pain. 

She smiled widely at him, the simple act wiping away some of the age that came with war, leaving her looking younger than Sidney had ever seen her. She looked at Stringer’s leg, her eye moving over it critically. 

“Please, ma’am,” he heard Stringer whisper. “If you can, don’t let them take my leg.”

She said nothing, her smile losing some of its glow. She waved over two men who lifted Stringer and began to carry him off. She made to follow, but Sidney’s hand on her thigh stopped her.

“Damn his leg. Save his life.”

“We will do all we can to help him,” was her only answer as she pushed away to resume her work.

Sidney had seen plenty of wounded. He’d witness the human body being torn apart, maimed, eviscerated, as if a person’s life was no more than a candied layer atop a creme brûlée, to be shattered into tiny pieces with a single blow. Yet, he’d never spent an extended time among the wounded. He’d not heard their cries and pleas for hours on end, or watched doctors and nurses fight the clock as too many wounded poured in. Too many holes and not enough hands to plug them. 

In that moment, Sidney would have preferred the battlefield. Even if it was an illusion, at least on the battlefield, he felt a modicum of control. He had direction, a purpose, a goal. Here all he could do was listen and watch.

It took hours as the fighting continued on several miles away. Sidney feared there would be no relief for his men when even as the sun went down the sounds of war continued, but thankfully, once the moon was high in the sky, an uneasy silence fell.

Stringer had been brought back to recover, though he’d not yet woken.

When Nurse Heywood again appeared she moved to the Sergeant checking for fever and inspecting the work the doctor had done on his leg.

Stringer stirred. Sidney watched as she helped Stringer just as she’d helped him the night before: giving him water, calming his drug induced muttering, tucking his blanket in around him.

“Ma’am?” Stringer croaked out. “My...leg?”

“There’s a way to go yet, but the doctor says there’s every reason to be hopeful,” she soothed. “And the leg is saved.”

Sidney breathed a sigh of relief, and Stringer near burst into tears. 

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he choked out.

“It’s quite alright,” she assured. “Rest. You’ll be evac’d to hospital in the morning.”

Apparently pleased by what she saw of his leg, she stood and moved to where Sidney lay. She pressed her hands against his forehead and cheeks, checking for fever. 

“How are you feeling, Captain?” She asked as she removed the dressing from his chest. 

“Well on the mend, Nurse,” He answered as he watched her confidently clean and redress the incision on his chest. He saw the way her brow furrowed when she was concentrating, her lips turning down into a frown as she worked. The dark smudges beneath her eyes and her tangle of curls fighting to free themselves from the prison of the cloth around her head told him of the long hours as she’d neglected her own needs in favor of others. 

“You’re tired,” he said suddenly.

“We’re all tired,” she answered, continuing her work without interruption. 

He smirked. 

“I must admit, Nurse Heywood, you’re quite skilled. I should never expected you to be so, uh...capable.”

Her look took on a sardonic glint as she eyed him before pulling him into a sitting position, indicating for him to raise his arms, and began rewrapping his chest...tightly. 

“Indeed, Capt. Parker,” she finally said. “Because I am a young woman or because up until now you’ve dismissed me as frivolous?’

He thought a moment. “Well, a little of both I daresay,” he answered honestly. 

Despite her strength and ability, he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes. He had let the war get inside him and consume him. He’d thought of only the next day and of the lives he was responsible for. It had destroyed a part of his humanity, and he’d realized he’d discredited this woman because she’d not worn his uniform and not marched the many miles with him. He could now clearly see the dust and mud that clung to her own shoes. 

“Forgive me,” he breathed against her check as she leaned closer to wrap the bandage around his back. She fumbled with the roll before righting her hands, wrapping soft material around him again and again. Despite the coppery scent of blood and the tang of sweat that clung to them both, he could still smell the faint scent of the soap she used on her hair. It wasn’t the unscented army issue soap that could be used for cleaning a mess kit as well as ears. This was flowery and soft and feminine. Sidney couldn’t remember smelling anything so sweet. 

She finished tying the cloth and pulled back. He immediately missed the connection. 

“I’ll see that you get some food soon,” she mumbled, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze, and scurried away to help another soldier. 

****

Sidney was desperate for a cigarette, but the doctor had been quite clear that until he was fully healed, he wasn’t to tax his lungs with smoking. Stringer had tossed him the last of his pack with a mischievous wink before he’d been carted off to the truck that would carry him to the hospital far away from the front.

“You better not let the Admiral catch you with that,” a nearby nurse said, a young woman with blond curly hair and deep blue eyes, Clara, he believed she was called.

“The Admiral?”

“She means the spirited Nurse Heywood,” Crowe, a British soldier the next bed over, clarified. “She runs a tight ship that one. If she catches you breaking the doctors orders then she’ll have to bring you to heel.”

Crowe gave him a smirk before taking a dramatic, purposeful pull off his own cigarette. 

Sidney scowled darkly at him, but shoved the pack under his pillow. He wasn’t afraid of the tiny nurse...but he’d wait until he knew she’d not be around before smoking one. 

Unfortunately, she truly was adept. After he’d forced down half a bowl of thin broth, Nurse Heywood came by, felt for a fever, sniffed his bandages, then raised an eyebrow before pushing her hand under his pillow and snatching the offensive sticks before he had a moment to even react. 

“Finish all of the broth,” she ordered, no sympathy in her voice for his plight.

He gawked at her, uncertain whether he was more frustrated or impressed before irritation finally won out. He downed the rest of the salty, lukewarm liquid and shoved the bowl back at her.

“Admiral Heywood, indeed,” he muttered mulishly, then rolled over, turning his back on her bemused expression.

Thanks for reading!!!


	2. The Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thrilled and humbled by the reception for this story! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you!

After four days, Sidney Parker was ready to go AWOL. He knew he hadn’t been evacuated because his wound was such that he’d be expected to return to the fighting, which was fine by him, but the doctor insisted on a three week minimum recovery time. He knew he was not going to be able to be away from his men for that long.

He’d grown used to the pain in his chest. He’d numbed so much already that it seemed no small thing to allow the constant thrumming of his ribs mix and mingle with the darkness that had found root. 

He was not going to lay about another day. If he was going to get out of this med station before the week was up, then he was going to have to force himself to his feet. He waited until he knew Admiral Heywood was gone, having overheard one of the doctors insisting she get at least six hours of sleep. Not that he was scared of her. 

He pressed himself up, swinging his legs carefully over the bed. He sat a moment, letting the world right itself from the spinning. Once he was sure the ground was beneath his feet, he pushed himself into standing. A wave of nausea swept over him and he was sure he was about to be sick all over himself, but he slowed his breathing and swallowed hard a few times until the strongest of the urges passed. 

It took him three tries, but he managed to get himself onto his feet. The pain in his chest and side was throbbing, but he could deal with it. He would have to. 

He saw his boots under the bed but the thought of bending over to get them and put them on sent another wave of nausea through him. He continued along the old wooden floor in his sock feet. It was a quaint, old church they’d commandeered for the field hospital. He’d spent more time in a church as a soldier then he ever did as a civilian. The pews made for decent enough beds and they were clean. He’d come to associate the musky, waxy smell with comfort and safety. He wasn’t an especially religious man and, if anything, the war pushed him further and further away from caring about a god who would let the world descend into such utter and destructive chaos, but he would never look at a church and not feel a measure of gratitude. 

His movements were slow as he weaved through cot after cot of the injured and dying, but he didn’t look. It was better that way.

He didn’t realize how stuffy the church was until he managed to make it out the door into the chilly September night. The sun hadn’t been gone long, but what little warmth there had been in the day had already surrendered to the pale twilight of evening. A shiver went through him as he breathed in the smell of smoke and cold. Even as he panted for breath, the throbbing in his chest and side nearly unbearable, he was grateful for the silence. 

He knew he’d taxed his body to its limit, but just as he’d turned to go back inside he saw her. She was walking along the street, her hair down and free of the rag, a shawl around her arms as she moved slowly towards him. 

She’d not seen him and something told him if he didn’t move then she would walk right past him, lost in whatever memory was haunting or saving her. Even in the shadow of the dying day he could see the exhaustion tinting her face like rouge. He stupidly wondered at her not sleeping until he remembered he knew why. Sometimes not even exhaustion was strong enough to bring respite. 

He wasn’t sure what made him do it, his past endeavors suggested a pattern of avoidance and disinterest, but there was something about this woman that drew him to her. His mind rebelled against it—what was he to do with a woman while recovering in a field hospital in the middle of war in place so far from home? And yet, he felt almost a desperation to speak with her, to hear her lithe and melodic voice, to see her smile, or her brow wrinkle with a frown. War brought about an unquestionable awareness of life’s bullshit. He could be dead tomorrow. So he pulled the small pack of matches he’d grabbed from his pack and retrieved a smoke he’d managed to talk a private out of after Admiral Heywood had commandeered his pack, and like a petulant child, made a show of striking the match and lighting the cigarette.

The action caught her attention, as he knew it would, and his eyes met hers. He took a slow drag off the cigarette, his chest burning with protest, but he forced himself to slowly let the smoke out in a long billowy line. She hesitated before redirecting her path towards him.

“You don’t listen very well do you, Captain?” She asked, her tone light but not completely able to hide her frustrations.

“The ubiquitous Nurse Heywood,” he said by way of answer. “I listen to what’s worth listening to.”

Her brow knitted together, those wrinkles forming along her skin. “I suppose that means you have no interests in what I have to say, even as your nurse? Or else you wouldn’t be standing out here smoking.”

He wanted to not care at the hurt in her eyes, believing he was beyond even noticing such emotions, but he suddenly felt ashamed and needed to route out such feelings. “I have no interest in your approval or disapproval. I respect your skill as a nurse, but you can’t know what it’s like for a soldier like me, the perils of war and all that. If I want a cigarette, I’ll have a cigarette and I don’t care what you think or how you feel. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but there it is.”

Her gaze narrowed, assessing him in that quiet, keen way that left him feeling poor footed. “Only, if you really don’t care,” she began slowly, “I wonder that you take the trouble to be quite so offensive and hurtful.”

She surprised him with her accusation, her words sharp and cutting. “And I may not be a soldier, Captain Parker, but I assure you, I’ve seen just as many poor boys slaughtered or shattered. And while you march away to your next offensive, I stay with those men. I mop their brow and their blood. I know the _perils_ of war, Captain. My clothes are stained with it.”

He said nothing. What could he say? He’d wanted to lash out and so he had, only she’d hit back. 

“Do as you’d like Captain Parker, but as a nurse, as someone who is trying to help you heal, I’m telling you to toss the cigarette and go back to bed. Good night.”

He could only watch her go, the taste of cigarette sour in his mouth. 

***

She was nothing but polite to him the next day, going about her work with a competent air of gentle indifference. She made no small talk as she checked his chest, listened to his breathing, and wrapped his ribs. 

When a screaming Lieutenant came in, dragging a body along, he watched as she and a doctor ran to them, making quick work of assessing the obviously wounded private. It seemed the Lieutenant wasn’t satisfied with their efforts and began barking orders for the private’s care. Sidney was on the verge of ordering the rampant man to stand down when Nurse Heywood reached up and grabbed the much bigger man by the ear and twisted. Sidney watched half in shock, half admiration as the man bent low, mouth wide with pain.

“Calm down lieutenant,” Nurse Heywood ordered, as if the man was no more than a wayward child. “We will do our best to help your friend.”

That was all it had taken, the young man properly chastised, snapped his mouth shut, and Nurse Heywood let go of his ear then offered an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Another wave of wounded began filling what little space had been left in the old church, and he’d not seen her the rest of the day. The blonde nurse, Clara, checked him in the evening and he found himself asking after Nurse Heywood.

“Oh, she had to take one of the ambulances out,” she answered, as if she were discussing the weather. 

“What?” He snapped, clearly surprising her with the heat behind his reaction. 

She frowned at him. “Charlotte is a trained ambulance driver as well as nurse. One of the other drivers got winged earlier and is in surgery, so they sent her out in his ambulance.”

He scowled, though he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“She’s quite proficient, I assure you,” Clara said carefully before leaving him to check on the next patient. 

Nurse Heywood, it seems, was far from the wilting miss he’d first assumed her to be. He wondered why he’d been so critical of her. He couldn’t deny that when he’d first seen her, standing among his men, he’d felt an instant attraction to her, but that was hardly her fault. He knew his irritation was an extension of months of marching, fighting, killing, surviving with no end in sight, but she was right. They were all just doing what they could; his suffering was no heavier than any one else’s.

****

“We’re moving you across the street, Captain,” Dr. Fuch’s explained in his heavy Boston accent. “It’s a near abandoned housing complex, but one of the local women that didn’t leave when the bombing started keeps it clean for us and will bring you food. Several of the doctors and nurses are in the building as well. One of them will be by to check on you at least twice a day for the next week. Sorry, to evict you, but we need the bed.”

Sidney nodded, not the least put out. He was nearing the end of his first week in hospital and was already restless and worried about his men. As soon as he could walk more than a few yards without getting winded, he was out of this place for good. 

“Good,” Dr. Fuchs continued. “Nurse Heywood will help you gather your things and see that you’re settled.”

The young woman stepped forward, a polite smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. She set about helping him with his boots, allowing him the dignity of not having to struggle to bend over. He hated feeling so helpless, but he didn’t want to risk exacerbating his injury and undoing the healing his body had already worked to achieve. 

She draped his army issue jacket around his shoulders and put all his personal items in his bag before standing and offering her arm out to him. 

He eyed her a moment.

She just barely avoided rolling her eyes, before extending her arm out a little further. “Come along Captain, I promise, I’m stronger than I look.”

He gave her a small, half smile, just the barest rise of the corner of his mouth, before reaching up and using her offered arm to levy himself to his feet. 

True to her word, she held firm, offering him a sure foundation, allowing himself to steady.

“Yes, Nurse Heywood,” he said softly, “You surely are.”

She stared at him a moment, a distrustful curiosity in her wide, brown eyes. His hand still held her forearm, his long fingers wound around her arm, warm and tight. She was a velvet brick beneath his touch. He could see the tenderness and compassion in her eyes, but recognized the firm length of her spine and the unyielding set of her shoulders. Her eyes held his, waiting, until he saw for just a moment her gaze flitted down to his lips, lingering just long enough for him to understand that perhaps she wasn’t as unaware of him as she liked to pretend.

He allowed his hand to fall away, roughly clearing his throat to cover the sudden dryness. “Lead on Nurse Heywood.”

She walked slowly, each step mindful of his own, and he felt a sense of appreciation flood him. It was such a small thing. Her steps measured and even, unrushed, allowing him the dignity of pride without the condescension of pity. 

When they stepped outside, his eyes darted to the high places still left standing. It was ingrained in him, and he wondered if he’ll ever be able to step into the street and not look for a sniper. He knew the town had been liberated for a few weeks now, but there was no turning off the war from inside him. 

She led him across the street to a small building, only about three floors, with several small apartments lining the hallway. 

“Two or three families still live here,” she explained, guiding him to a small brown door near the end of the hall on the ground floor. “But most of the tenets fled when the bombing started, and a few chose to leave when the army moved in. Many left behind furniture and clothes. It can feel a bit like walking into the echo of other people’s lives, but necessity will out and all that.”

Indeed, the small apartment he found himself in looked as if it was waiting for some young man or woman to return and resume the life that had been so disrupted by war. 

“Mrs. Wouters lives upstairs on the third floor. The Americans are paying her to clean and cook for them until they move deeper into Germany. She’s a sweet lady. She doesn’t speak English, but she’ll bring you food everyday. It’s not much, but it’s warm and fresh.”

The way her lips lingered over the words was enough to tell Sidney that she knew what it was like to survive on tin can army issue. 

“I’m sure it’s delicious,” he said simply. 

She looked at him again, her eyes meeting his. They stood silent, as if taking measure. 

“Yes, well, the lavatories are communal, with one on each floor. The third floor is reserved for women and nurses. Men are not allowed up there,” she finally said, turning to leave. “Get as much rest as you can, Captain Parker.”

“Nurse Heywood,” he called, reaching out again for her arm, “wait, please, wait.”

She stiffened under his touch this time, her face turning to his, her cheeks pinks, eyes bright. “What? What do you want from me, Captain Parker”

He hesitated, confronted with her distaste of him. 

“I—Sidney, please, at least when we’re alone, will you call me Sidney?”

It was her turn to hesitate. She blinked at him, seemingly caught surprised by his request.

“Why?” She finally asked. “You clearly don’t like me.”

He breathed a deep sigh. “I’m sorry you think that. At least I’m sorry I’ve made you think that.”

He let his hand once again fall from her arm. “I promise I’m not always such a brute. This war...its...twisted everything up...I—I need...I need to apologize for our first meeting.”

She frowned, beginning to wave him off, but he refused.

“I was a brute,” he reaffirmed.

“I deserved it. You were right, I could have handled the situation with more tact. I owe you an apology.”

“I do not accept your apology,” he tried again. “I was out of line. And not only that, I’ve done you a great discourtesy. I’ve underestimated you.”

“I understand,” she interrupted, saving him from further explanation. “I...that is, perhaps I have been harder on you then I should.”

He smiled at her admission. “Well, is it conceivable that we’ve had each other wrong, _Admiral Heywood_?”

She smiled, but her eyes fell in embarrassment as he teased her. “Oh, that damned nickname.”

He laughed now, earning a small giggle from her. “I think it’s fitting,” he declared. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone as capable as you Nurse Heywood.”

“Charlotte,” she said, “at least when we’re alone.”

“Charlotte,” he breathed, her name tasting sweet on his tongue. 

****

Two days later Charlotte made her way out of the church, her lower back aching, her legs feeling as if her shoes were stuffed with lead, and her feeling fuzzy with hunger. The cloudy, grey weather hadn’t stopped the ground fighting, it had only served to delay any support from the air. Parachutists from the 82nd Airborne were unable to drop in and offer relief or strength to those infantry units suffering with near constant bombardment, mine fields, pillboxes, and bunkers filled with Germans unwilling to surrender, determined to fight to the death. Wounded had been pouring in like sand through a sieve. Charlotte was pushed beyond exhaustion. 

She wanted nothing more than sleep, but as she pushed her feet forward towards the steps of the building that lead to the third floor, she found herself paused outside his door. She told herself she wanted to check and make sure he was healing, but she knew it was a lie. She just...wanted to see him.

She knocked lightly, only just realizing she didn’t even know what time it was. The sky had fallen dark, but how long ago she couldn’t say. Just as she was debating whether to knock again or abandon her endeavors, the door swung open. 

His hair was a mess of curls and he wore a loose fitting vest that he must have borrowed from the previous occupant.

“You were asleep,” she said, guilt taking hold.

He waved her off. “It’s either sleep or go mad sitting around doing nothing.” He opened the door wider, indicating she should come in.

She shouldn’t. But she didn’t care. She stepped passed him into the darkened home.

“That’s good,” she answered before realizing what she was saying. “I mean it’s good you are resting. Your body needs it to heal.”

“Yeah,” he said, but she could tell he was uncomfortable with the admission. He moved around her to turn on the small light in the tiny kitchen. Her own flat, that she shared with another nurse, was very similar and she felt less uncertain. 

“Sit,” he ordered gently, pulling out one of the two chairs from the compact table for her. She obeyed, unable to suppress a groan at the immediate pleasure that came from sitting. He eyed her a moment before turning to a cupboard and pulling out a hunk of bread. “You’ve not eaten.”

It wasn’t a question, and she realized he was cutting the slice of bread for her. Her stomach rumbled loudly, but she was so hungry she felt almost nauseous with it. He understood though, without her having to explain. He spread a bit of butter over the bread and placed it in front of her. 

She offered her thanks before taking a bite. The outside of the bread was crusty and chewy, but soft in the middle. The creamy, salty butter melted in her mouth, and she couldn’t remember tasting anything better in her life. Before she’d even realized it, she’d polished off the first slice, and he was handing her another. She downed the small glass of cool water he set on the table before he asked if she could handle a third slice.

She knew it wasn’t a lot of food, but her stomach already felt full. She answered him with a shake of her head. He sat then in the chair opposite her. She could tell he’d showered and shaved, though his jaw was still shadowed. He had color back in his cheeks, and the constant grimace of pain seemed to have edged some from his eyes. 

“I spoke with an officer earlier,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “He said the Allies were getting pummeled.”

“Pushing the Germans out of Belgium was a humiliating loss for them,” Charlotte said. “They aren’t going to let you into Germany so easily. The west wall is too well fortified.”

His palm slapped that table. “Dammit, I should be with my men.”

When she jumped at his outburst, his apology was immediate and contrite. She realized he still hadn’t asked for the reason for her visit, and she was grateful.

“I know you want to be with your men,” she said slowly, her voice quiet but earnest, “but you’re no use to them right now. You need to heal. Then you can return and be the leader they all look up to.”

She was surprised to find that she had reached out and placed her hand on his. She made to pull away, embarrassed by her overture, but he turned his hand quickly, catching her fingers with his, holding tight. He said nothing, but lifted her hand up from the table, his thumb smoothing the skin along the back of her hand. He was inspecting each finger, seeing the dried blood still beneath her nails. 

“Why are you here?”

He asked the question so quietly, she wasn’t quite sure she heard correctly. Through the fog of her mind, his words registered. 

“I… I just wanted to check and see how you were faring.”

He shook his head. “No, why are you here? Why are you here where it’s so dangerous and miserable? Why aren’t you back home, safe, warm, being young?”

She frowned. Coming here was a mistake. She felt too comfortable, relishing in the way his hand was gently massaging her own. She should be in bed, far away from him. 

“I was needed.”

It was all she had to offer. She didn’t know why, but she felt her eyes fill with tears. As if being with him had broken the scab on a wound she had forgotten was healing. 

He could see her bleeding. 

She heard the scrape of his chair across the wooden floor, felt the warmth of his body as he sat close to her, smelled the light scent of the soap he’d used still clinging to his skin as he pulled her towards him. Her head fell against his shoulder, her hands still in his. She couldn’t cry, she didn’t have the energy, and she knew if she began she would never stop. She simply allowed her head to rest as she listened to his breathing. Each in and out a testament to him being there, to him being alive. And for now that was enough.

****

When she awoke, she struggled to make sense of where she was. Sunlight streamed in through the window, the smell of coffee strong, a weight against her legs. 

She blinked several times to clear the sleep from her eyes and paused when she realized he sat next to her, looking down at her. She was in his bed, fully dressed except for her shoes and her bloodied apron, which he must’ve removed. 

“Good morning,” he offered, along with a small cup of coffee. 

She sat up quickly, uncertain how she was feeling beyond knowing she should feel mortified. 

“I’m so sorry,” she began, but he stopped her.

“You were exhausted. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I did try to wake you, but, as you say, your body needed the rest. I hope you’ll forgive me for putting you in my bed.”

She knew her cheeks were reddening, which surprised her. After all she’d witnessed, she had believed herself beyond such embarrassments. As his nurse, she’d seen every bit of this man, knew what lay beneath the uniform, but that had been necessity, that had been about saving his life. This was something different, something that felt far more personal and intimate. 

She wouldn’t ask where he had slept. She would feel too guilty if he’d spent the night in the chair or on the floor, and she would feel too gratified if he revealed he’d slept near her in the bed. 

She took the coffee from him, sipping slowly, allowing the warm liquid to spread inside her, before deciding to approach this as unemotionally as possible. 

“Thank you, Captain.”

He frowned. “I thought we agreed on Sidney.”

Despite his look of displeasure, she could hear the teasing in his voice and her body betrayed her. She did not want to maintain the distance she knew she should. She wanted to curl up in his lap and never think about the war or death or loss ever again. 

“Thank you, Sidney.”

****

Charlotte left soon after she finished her cup of coffee, and Sidney hated that he missed her. It was best that she leave though. While war changed many rules, he doubt it very much if Mrs. Wouters would appreciate finding her in his bed. When she had fallen asleep against him, he had truly tried to wake her, even if simply for propriety's sake. He thought to ignore how nice it felt to have her in his arms, her warmth, her body. She needed him. And that felt even better.

His ribs had screamed in protest when he’d lifted her. He feared he would drop her, but he had learned a lot in the war, and something he learned was just how much the human body could endure when pressed. If his chest ached a little more today, he knew it had been worth it.

He’s watched her sleep for much longer than he should. She looked too young for this old man’s war. His fingers itched to slide into the wild, coffee brown curls draped across his pillow. Looking at her was like gazing on the brilliance of Monet or Botticelli. After all the ugliness he’d seen in this war, she was the blossoming water-lilly among the muddy river; she was his Venus. 

Having her there next to him all night had been a comfort, had felt like home, had felt like before. It felt like what could be. It was stupid; it was dangerous. This was not a place to be comfortable. This was not a place to start hoping and dreaming of life after the war. That made a man cautious, distracted—a target. 

He would have to be better in the future. He had a job to do. He had men fighting, risking their lives, depending on him. He needed to protect them...and her. He would have to distance himself from the beautiful, enthralling, capable, and utterly lovable Charlotte Heywood.

Thanks for reading!


	3. What Needs Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤️❤️❤️

  
  


For the first time since the West Wall campaign began, the day dawned bright and sunny, the sky cloudless, the ground perfectly devoid of haze. The heavy buzz of motors filled the air, planes flying over in waves. The air support could finally begin its barrage.

Charlotte watched, her mouth open in awe at the sight. Fighter planes, bombers, transport planes, all headed towards the border. Despite the carnage she knew was coming, she couldn’t help but feel a fissure of triumph.

“So, Nurse Heywood, penny for your thoughts.”

She blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust after staring up at the bright sky, she knew who it was. His voice like warm bourbon and fire smoke washed over her.

They hadn’t seen much of each other since the morning two days ago when she’d awoken in his bed. She had been busy with the seemingly unending train of wounded, but she knew it was really some embarrassment and some uncertainty that kept her from seeking his company again. It seemed he’d been content with her avoidance, making no claims on her time or attention, appearing at times to even avoid it. And she hated that she felt hurt by that.

“I thought you didn’t care what I think. Now you’re ready to pay to find out?” She kept her tone light, but he could clearly hear the edge to her voice.

He grimaced.

“So I’ll just keep my thoughts to myself,” she said, turning back to look at the army above.

He left her alone, and she felt worse.

Victory or defeat, those planes meant more wounded and dead.

****

“Bring him over here,” a doctor called, waving at Sidney.

It had been nearly 24 hours straight of triage and treatment. Sidney had been unable to stay out of it. He knew the ache in his side and chest would plague him later, but when the adrenaline began pumping he was able to ignore his own discomfort. There wasn’t a lot he could do to help, but he had jumped in and started unloading wounded, moving the dead out of the way, and holding IV lines. When he found himself struggling to catch his breath, his chest and lungs burning, he’d felt a hand on his arm, pushing him to sit and a canteen of water shoved in his hands.

“Sit and wait for your breathing to even out before you get back up,” was all she said before disappearing back into the fray.

He’d found himself looking for her, following her with his gaze, a long forgotten excitement bubbling beneath the surface. He felt a sense of pride watching her work—which was ridiculous. He had no claim on her, no right to such feelings, and yet it somehow gave him renewed strength. A strength he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed.

Sidney thought he’d never again experience anything like the unending shelling from the Germans, but this was damn close. It felt like there was no end in sight to the wounded pouring in. There were never enough beds, or doctors, or nurses. There was never enough medicine or bandages, and men were simply left to wait—crying and pleading for relief—some sobbing in fear of death and others praying for it.

It made Sidney long for his gun and his foxhole.

And this was just the beginning. They were only weeks into this offensive, and the Germans were making it clear that each yard gained would be hard won.

It was going to be a long winter.

****

Around dawn the next day he stumbled out of the makeshift hospital and into the gray, morning light. There was a definite chill in the air now, a light frost knitting the small patches of grass along the cobblestone road. The cold felt good, refreshing, but Sidney feared what it would mean for the days to come.

He saw her then, sitting among some rubble, her eyes closed, face drawn. Had he not been exhausted and stretched to his limit, he would have stuck to his resolution to stay away. He was here to fight a war. He should focus on that. Yet, inherent in such a task was the reality that each day he was here was possibly one step closer to his life being forfeit. He didn’t know if that made him want to care more or care less. All he really knew was that he was leaving soon, and what he really wanted was to hear her voice again, to see her face, to know the feel of her skin, to commit it all to memory. Everything else could go to hell.

He made his way towards her, finding his own chair amid the rubble, and sat near her. She cracked an eye open, one eyebrow raised in question, but said nothing as she let her eyes close again.

They sat in silence for a time, and Sidney found it immensely comfortable. He’d not known a contentedness like this for some time.

“You’re leaving soon,” she finally said softly, eyes still closed. “Aren’t you?”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, seeing the same blood in the crevasses of his knuckles that he saw in hers.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She shifted now, sitting up straighter, looking directly at him. “Despite doctor's orders.”

He could tell her he was fine, that the pain helped him feel alive, that he could deal with it, but all he could force out was, “They’re my men.”

She gave him a sad smile and a small nod. He felt like he was betraying her somehow.

“Charlotte,” he breathed, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“I know,” she answered. “Just...let’s not think on it now. Let’s just be here, right now, together.”

Her small hand reached for his, her cold fingers sliding into his warm palm. It was familiar and thrilling at the same time.

“Tell me about your family,” he said suddenly. “Tell me where you’re from, what you want to do after the war, how you came to be a nurse.”

She giggled at him, the smile making her eye wrinkle and the dimple in her chin deepen, and his breath caught.

“Goodness, I’m not sure we’ve time for all that,” she laughed.

“Pretend we do,” he said, not caring at the desperation tinting his tone.

She understood. This may be all they ever have. So, she told him. She told him about being the oldest of 12 children on a farm in Willingden.

“Willingden?” He cried. “That’s not terribly far from my family home in Sanditon.”

“Unbelievable,” she breathed. “My family would go there for a weeks holiday every summer. We loved the annual regatta. Never missed it.”

“I raced with my brothers in the rowing competition nearly every year when we were teenagers,” he said, excitement building at the new found connection to home and her.

“I watched that race!” She beamed. “I had to have seen you racing!”

He couldn’t help but laugh too. “Amazing. Did you attend the dance as well?”

Her grin widened, her face growing animated. “That was the best part. I love dancing.”

He shook his head. “We may have passed each other on the street and never known it.”

They revelled in their discovery a time longer until Sidney asked, “How did you go from sleepy, uneventful Willingden to this?”

Her eyes lost some of the shimmer they’d taken on, and she dropped her head. “It really was an Idyllic childhood filled with adventure and laughter,” she explained. “But I’d always dreamed of seeing more of the world, felt like there was an adventure out there for me. I had a wanderlust that neither of my parents understood. And when the war broke out, I felt this need in me to help my country. I wanted to do my part. The army wouldn’t let me join up as a soldier—even though I could probably out shoot the majority of boys—so I joined the nursing brigade.”

“How did your family feel about that?”

“My mum and dad were so upset when I joined up,” she said, the dramatic shake of her head pantomiming the severity of her parents’ reaction. “Which I understand. I wanted to join up right away in the women’s land army, but my younger brother, the oldest of the boys, had been called up and my parents pressured me to stay at home and help with the farm…”

The way she trailed off sent dread through him.

“He...His unit was pinned down in Africa in ‘42,” she told him. “But they were told to hold the line.” She bit her lip. “He was 18 and had been in the army only about four months. His commander sent a very fine letter outlining his bravery. It was an Allied victory.”

Her words were flat.

“We were devastated.”

He squeezed her hand. He’d written plenty of those letters.

“I felt like I was going out of my mind. I had agreed to stay and help my parents with the stipulation that I would begin training as a nurse while I waited the year out to turn 21. When John died I was only a month shy. I felt a renewed purpose. Nothing will ever make it right, but as terrible as things have been, I still know that leaving home and being here was the right decision.”

Sidney had a sense that he was severely outpaced by this young woman. She continued to impress and fascinate him. He also realized she would understand the struggle he’d been warring with. He used his free hand to reach into his pocket and pull out the familiar envelope.

She made a small noise, before saying, “You’ve not opened it.”

He looked down at his name in Arthur’s distinct and recognizable hand. “I can’t,” he confessed. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to my baby brother.”

“Oh Sidney.”

“I know Arthur wasn’t...well he had a lot of struggles,” he faltered. “I wasn’t always there for him like I should have been. Our mother was American you see. All four of us Parker children have dual citizenship. We spent most of our time in Sanditon, but every other summer we’d return to my mother’s home in New York. When I turned 18, I fancied myself deeply in love, but she threw me over for a wealthy, older fellow. I was mad and wanted as far away as possible, so I applied to schools in the States and wound up at Columbia University.”

He paused to look at her. He’d not talked about himself this much in a long time, not even to his men. It felt awkward, but she gave him an encouraging little smile.

“I graduated with a degree in business and began a career on Wall Street. My older brother, Tom, wanted me to come home and help with Sanditon, but there was so much to do and learn. The States had been hit hard by economic depression, but things were changing, it was rebuilding. I enjoyed being a part of that.”

He sighed. It was all so fucked up now.

“Then war broke out. I waited to be called back home and called up, but it never came. I admit part of me was glad, but part of me felt guilty too. When Pearl Harbor was bombed and I knew the US was going to enter the war, I couldn't just sit by and wait anymore. I volunteered. Tom was livid. Said I’d turned my back on my country and my family.”

She could see the sting of those words still ached, even as he tried to pretend otherwise.

“But, as it turns out, I make a pretty good soldier,” he chuckled.

Charlotte could sense something deeper in his words, something darker and more painful, but he wasn’t ready to face it.

“Somehow, Arthur just seemed to fall by the wayside,” he admitted. “I didn’t have much contact with him after I left home, and I don’t understand why he sent a message to me. Why did he send you to find me? How did he even know my unit? He was very close to our sister, Diana, and much closer to Tom than to me…”

He trailed off, now looking at the letter as if it had the power to decide his fate.

“Well,” Charlotte began slowly, “I don’t mean to state the obvious, but—”

“I’ll only find out if I actually read the letter?” Sidney finished for her dryly.

She nodded, a sympathetic look on her face.

He slid the letter back in his pocket.

The sun was now clear of the horizon, more and more people began milling about.

Their moment was over.

****

“Major? Major Lambe!”

Sidney had managed an hour or so of sleep after Charlotte had insisted on rewrapping his chest and shoved two aspirin into his hand. He’d tugged on her arm until she’d fallen onto the bed with him with a resigned huff.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” she chided gently, before snuggling into his side, careful to keep her weight off him.

He’d wanted to kiss her then, to ply her soft skin with the tender press of his lips, but her eyes were already closed, her breathing slowing. So he settled with a lingering kiss to her brow, before he let his own eyes drift shut.

The honking of a horn and men yelling had woken him, and an instinct he’d developed and learned to trust over his career as a soldier prompted him to pull his weary body away from the warmth and comfort of the bed and her hold.

Once he made his way out into the street he was surprised to see his commanding officer and good friend strapped to the back of a Jeep.

“Captain Parker!” Lambe called back. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Sir,” Sidney began, taking in the blood soaked bandage around the older man’s shoulder.

“I’ll be alright,” Lambe insisted. “Took a bullet to the shoulder. Nothing a quick stitch can’t fix.”

Sidney eyed him doubtfully but knew enough not to contradict. “Any word on the three-two, sir?”

Major Lambe wasn’t one to sugar coat. “Not good, son. The whole battalion’s been driven south through Deadman's Moor. The goal was to cut the Lammersdorf-Huertgen road, and make contact to the southwest with the 39th. They’d managed to cut through the forward band of the West Wall. But I’ll be damned if we push forward and gain ground, only to be too exhausted to hold it. It’s a damn tug-o-war, and the 32nd is slam stuck right in the middle of it.”

Sidney felt his body go hot then cold. He’d been away from his men for nearly two weeks. Too long.

Before he could respond, she stepped lightly around him, moving to the major to check his wound.

“Well,” Major Lambe grinned, “hello, there.”

Sidney rolled his eyes.

Charlotte just smiled back. “That looks pretty nasty Major, let’s get you into the church.”

Sidney moved to help the men Charlotte had waved over. He caught her eyes for a moment and knew that she had heard what the major said and knew she understood what that meant for him.

She grabbed his arm, holding him still long enough to say, “Don’t go without saying goodbye. Please, if you can, wait.”

He gave a single nod. “If I can.”

She left him then, following the doctor who would care for his friend.

****

Sidney spent the next hour packing up, preparing to leave, when a soft knock sounded.

He frowned and moved to open the door. Charlotte stood before him, her brown eyes glassy, her lips pressed tightly together.

He managed a straggled “No” before she stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, struggling with her tears. “He hemorrhaged during surgery to remove the bullet….there was nothing we could do.”

He was shocked. “But he was up and talking and he seemed…he seemed o.k. earlier…”

She just shook her head. “It happens sometimes. It makes no sense, and I’m so sorry…”

“The man saved my life,” he said, his voice low and disconnected. “And what about his daughter? I…should I write and tell her she’s all alone in the world?”

He should be used to it. In truth, he was. He was numb to so much of it, but the last two weeks with her had thawed too much of him. He felt the pain of the blood pumping back into him. He wanted to scream. He grabbed angrily at his bag and jacket.

“Don’t,” she cried, pressing her hands against his chest. “Don’t go like this.”

“Charlotte, I have to. I can’t explain it, but I have to get back to my men.”

“I know. I understand,” she tried again, his heart breaking at the wet streaks down her cheeks. “Just don’t storm off. Give me one hour. Just one hour of you and me being selfish. Let’s shut it all out and pretend. Can you do that for me, before you go?”

He hesitated. He feared one hour in her arms would be enough to ruin him, to break him completely, to drive what little control he felt clean from him.

Her hands on his chest gentled, and he knew she would walk away if he asked. She would give him no grief, no accusations, just her acceptance.

God help him, he needed her.

He wanted her.

Not like this though. Not in a bombed out town that served as the graveyard of so many. Not caught in the grief that grayed the edges of his eyes.

They could pretend.

They could be in the dance hall of Sanditon on a warm summer evening, the smell of the sea in the air, eager and excited in the youthfulness of the night.

He allowed his bag and jacket to slip from his hands before bringing them to her hips, pulling her to him, his forehead lowing to rest against hers, and began swaying slightly side to side.

“Dance with me?” He whispered.

Her brow lowered, that familiar wrinkle taking place between her eyebrows as she struggled to reconcile what he was asking with where they were.

Her hands slid up his chest to wrap themselves around his neck. His small request had snapped something in her, and she buried her face against his chest, crying quietly.

He held her closer, soothing her tears, continuing to rock them, one hand sliding up to finally bury his fingers in her soft curls, tucking her beneath his chin.

“Can this be me, feeling so, happy go lucky,” he softly sang, his voice low and rumbly in his chest as they swayed. “Looking in your happy go lucky eyes.”

He forced her head up, kissing the end of her nose, tasting the salt of her tears, before he spun her out of his arms then back in.

She smiled despite herself.

“Can this be me, feeling so, happy go lucky,” he continued slowly, lingering over each word, weaving them in a world all their own. “Me, what’s always acted so smart and wise.”

He spun them about, earning a delighted gasp from her. His voice had begun gravely and airy, like the rustiness of morning, but, as he sang, it turned honeyed and golden.

“Can this be me, singing ‘oh, everything’s ducky.’” he smiled softly, one hand still cupping her hip, the other gliding along her arm until he held her hand in his. “Following you on your happy go lucky way.”

He led her about the room, swinging and dipping about until they were both smiling and laughing.

“Well if it’s me, feeling so, happy go lucky, pardon me while I skip a kiss to say…” he dipped her low, ready to sing the last line, when she crashed her neck up and pressed her lips firmly against his.

Pulling back just as suddenly, she finished, “Heaven bless this happy go lucky day.” She giggled at the surprise in his eyes.

His face became alight with a grin that transformed him, allowing her a glimpse of the carefree teenager who’d rowed with his brothers and been happily in love. He grew serious though as he brought her back up right, wrapping her up against him. Carefully his hand moved up, his fingers stroking her cheek. Charlotte felt her breathing speed up, her chest rising and falling as he stared into her eyes. He was going to kiss her this time.

He stepped into her, forcing her neck back so she could look at him, taking in his soft lips and easy gaze. He leaned forward, his breath warm on her skin.

He stopped, just shy of contact, waiting. His thumb continued a gentle stroke, and as they stood together, so close, she found her breath matching his in rhythm.

Slowly in.

Slowly out.

Together.

“Charlotte,” he breathed.

It was up to her to close the distance, to take that step.

She knew he was handsome, but never had she'd really taken him in. His strong jaw, wide brow, and long face made him look so commanding and unyielding. Yet, She could also see the deep purple smudges around his eyes, the tightness to his lips. The brown of his eyes was dark, almost black, but they held a passion that burned brightly. She'd feared to look too closely, but as he handed all control to her, she saw him.

And he was alive and he was hers.

"Yes," she whispered.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her chin upward, meeting his lips in a gentle, soft caress. They lingered over the contact, never truly separating.

Charlotte moved, unthinkingly, bringing her own hands up his arms, coming to rest against his shoulders, playing with the material of his uniform, stroking his neck lightly.

She felt him sigh, knew he was enjoying the sensations, and welcomed the renewed touch of his lips against hers. Gradually he increase the pressure, further opening her lips,

This wasn't the staid kiss they'd just shared.

As his tongue met hers, at first fleeting and light, she enjoyed the sensation, especially when his fingertips moved to her hair, his other arm wrapping around her tightly. It wasn't sloppy and hard. It wasn't at all what she expected, or what she'd previously experienced in her somewhat limited pre-war dalliances.

Her own tongue hesitantly moved, darting out to meet his, and she felt a thrill as a shiver of pleasure traveled through him so strong, she felt it with her fingertips.

With renewed vigor his mouth worshipped hers, playfully pushing back, challenging her. Delight flooded her senses as the kiss deepened. She welcomed him into her, thrilling as he claimed her, then delighting as he relented to her touch, luring her into him. This was no battle of dominance, it was an exploration of devotion.

In a moment of surrender, his lips fell, his nose nuzzling against hers, both gasping for air.

Charlotte was no blushing virgin, having experimented with a boy or two back home in a hay loft or the back of a truck, but this was different. Sidney was no overly excited teenager grabbing at her desperately. He held her with confidence and tenderness.

She should not. She should not let herself want him. She should not let herself take from him. She should not let herself give to him. They both had so little left of themselves to offer. But she had gone so long without feeling anything but heartache and exhaustion. The excitement that ripples through her now was made all the more potent by its long absence.

“Just me and you,” she said against his lips, before renewing their kiss.

Sidney wound both arms around her without breaking contact, and, lifting her from the floor, carried her to the bed.

****

This time when Charlotte woke in his sheets, she had a very clear understanding of how she got there and what happened to her clothes. This time Sidney’s long fingers had stripped her of more than just her shoes and apron. He’d laid claim to every inch of skin he’d revealed as he peeled away her layers.

He’d made love to her body and soul.

Charlotte now understood that making love and having sex were two different experiences. As she and Sidney discovered pleasure together, it had been a revelation of intimacy and vulnerability and emotion. By the time he finally slid into her, she was desperate to have him be a part of her, to engulf her. It was more than satisfying an urge, it fed her desire until she was mad with need for him. He couldn’t get close enough, he couldn’t get deep enough. She wrapped her whole body around his until all that was left was to cry out her completion into his skin and drink in his, to watch him lose himself in a haze of sweet relief and release.

She’d held him as he’d shuddered in her arms, warring with more than just the reality of the moment. He’d wept into her hair, his tears running down her neck, until he’d slipped into slumber, pressed against her, skin to skin. They clung to each other, bodies tacky and sealed together in an embrace.

But now her body was cooled, chilled even, in a silence she felt deep in her bones.

He’d left her alone.

She scrambled from the bed, throwing her clothes on quickly, too desperate to care she could still smell him on her, could still feel him between her thighs.

She ran from the room, knowing where he would have headed. She had no idea how long he’d been gone, but she wasn’t willing to accept that he was gone until she knew for sure.

She ran to the ambulances; found a couple of American soldiers smoking.

“Captain Parker? Was he here?” she cried.

One of the soldiers threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. “You mean the tall guy who wanted to hitch a ride to the front?”

“Yes, yes that’s him. Has he left yet?”

“Just did,” the soldier said, pointing to the ambulance headed around the curve.

Charlotte didn’t think it through, she merely made a run for it, cutting across the grassy knoll, and into the street. The driver slammed on his breaks before leaning out the window to shout, “What the hell are you doing you crazy broad? Get your ass outta the road!”

Charlotte's hands were shaking, her heart racing, as she waited.

Sidney jumped out of the vehicle, his face thunderous.

“Charlotte, why the hell did you do that? You could’ve been killed. Get out of the road.”

She ignored his tirade. “You left without saying goodbye.”

He faltered. His gaze fell from her, his jaw working. “I...I couldn’t face it,” he admitted, the recrimination and resignation in stark contrast to the rude, abrasive man she’d first met weeks ago. “I’m sorry. Please, I have to go, but I can’t stand it if you think badly of me.”

“I understand,” she cried. “I don’t think badly of you. You have an obligation, a commitment to your men. I just...”

She didn’t finish, simply threw her arms around him, held him as close and as tight as her arms could stand.

He hugged her back, bending to bury his face in her neck.

The driver, with significantly less ire, called out, “Sir, we gotta go!”

Sidney pulled away, grabbing the still unopened letter from his pocket and shoving it into her hands, before gripping them tightly in his own. “I’m a different man now, Charlotte. Even before the war, I never wanted to put myself under someone else’s power. I never wanted to care for anyone but myself. My men...well, I learned to value my men, my brothers. They saved me in more ways than I can truly explain, but still, this war had planted something destructive in me, something beyond just my bitter and cynical nature. You changed that. You gave me something to hope for, something to believe in. When this war’s over, I would be content to spend the rest of my life in your arms. Keep this safe for me. I’ll find you again, and one day we’ll open it together.”

She blinked back her tears, determined to keep the last image he had of her from being the thousand, tiny, broken shards of glass spilling from her onto her cheeks. She thought of how she had nothing to give him. Her mind whirling with the limited options available to them. She remembered the blue cloth she used on her hair balled up in her pocket. It wasn’t enough, or maybe it was, but she moved to withdraw it and held it out to him. He offered her his wrist, and she quickly tied it in place before stuffing it under the sleeve of his army jacket safe from view.

“When I first met you, you inspired an anger in me I didn’t know I possessed. I thought you were so hard to read, a conundrum that I wasn’t sure I even cared to solve,” she said, suddenly desperate to make sure he knew and understood, ”but I was wrong. We are both just two people trying to survive in a hell not of our making, who managed to find a moment’s happiness together.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Despite everything, I can’t regret coming here. _You_ were the adventure I’ve been longing for. You were a miracle in a moment of deep doubt. You restored me, and I will pray every day for your safe return, Sidney Parker.”

His hands came up, his fingers sliding along her neck and into her hair until his thumbs caressed the flush of her cheeks. His dark eyes stared intently into hers, a finite supplication at the feet of an eternal understanding.

“Stay safe,” he commanded.

“Come back to me,” she answered.

He kissed her quickly then, no more time, no more words—just a gentle, careful press of his lips to her before he was gone, hurrying to jump in the vehicle.

Charlotte stepped back and watched him drive away.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, her voice breaking, the letter still clutched to her chest.  
  


The end

Thank you for reading!!! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story started out as a truncated retelling of Sanditon (hence the ending). Then as I was writing it I started creating an expanded narrative in this version, but I wasn’t sure anyone would be interested in an expanded story. I was unprepared for the overwhelmingly kind and encouraging reception. War Bonds is now the first in a trilogy of stories, but if you feel the story should end here then I thank you for reading! Otherwise, part 2 coming soon! Thank you all so much for the incredible support for this story! ❤️❤️❤️ It’s been wonderful!


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